Month: April 2022

Good Grief -The Dead Husband Card

Robert Gregory LaFavor-Courtwright went on life support just before my birthday 16 years ago. For a few days it was up in the air, then on my birthday, Oct 7th, 2005 we were told there was hope. So my sister-in-law, my birthday twin, and the rest of the family went out that night to celebrate our birthdays. I was turning 37. I got a tattoo. My mom got a tattoo. We were hopeful. I had faith. I believed he was too good and too loving and had too much to offer to be gone. He loved me. He loved me in a way that I didn’t think was possible. Then two days later, October 9th, 2005. I lay next to him on the bed as they turned off the machines and I felt his last breath leave his body. I cried the kind of keening cry the man-in-black cried in the “Princess Bride”, the sound of ultimate suffering. And in that very moment, the process of grief began and would be quickly stunted and would forever change how I showed up in the world. I would enter an extremely tumultuous decade where the rapid cycling of emotions would make me careen back into ways I thought I had “overcome” and left in my 2o’s. I would learn that grief makes others uncomfortable and that people are super judgy about how much hurt we are allowed to feel and express and for how long and where…the rules are endless, and honestly, cruel.

I already knew this actually but until this time I hadn’t realized just how much we squash emotions in others and how much that can truly harm someone.

There is so much to unpack – within the first moments of his passing I was IMMEDIATELY told I had to be quiet. Stop crying. That won’t bring him back. I physically collapsed (I was also exhausted) and was told to “stop being so dramatic”. I began the process of stuffing my feelings.

See it was always hard to explain to people that have friends and close relationships that work how devastating a loss can be when you have struggled with connection your whole life. I’ve always felt off, a little wrong, too emotional, too needy, and yet too independent. I never felt people got the whole of me. The dichotomy that I’m, so completely two (ok dozen but who is counting) things at all times. A manly girly girl. A rainbow goth. A sensitive biker b*tich. A punk rock ballerina. But Rob? OH he got it and relished in it… he could treat me like I was a lady and then ride on the back of my motorcycle celebrating my independence and power. Around him, I never had to choose which persona got to come out and play. He was there for all my sides. When you have been starved of that your whole life and finally FINALLY feel like a whole human just because someone says “Hey all of you is great” and then have it ripped from you? Well, it was devastating.

But I heard these things all in the first week
-“you weren’t even together that long.”
– “I mean he was sick right”
-“it’s not like your life was so great”
-“you weren’t even really married” (we were common law and we both recognized that and considered it “enough”, I had proposed a year earlier and we were putting off a ceremony because of his health)
Within a month I was hearing
-“try to think about the good memories”
-“you need to be on anti-depressants this is taking too long”

And the ultimate shut down came that New Year’s Eve so less than 3 months later- which would have been Rob’s 37th birthday- I wanted to plan a smaller meal with some friends at a special place but it would have made someone else’s plans be delayed and while trying to say I didn’t want their plans to be overridden I just needed this – I was told “well it doesn’t matter you’ll just play the dead husband card and get your way” (I didn’t get my “way” I gave up and got about the business of acting ok) I think that was the single worst moment for me… it was when I felt even more keenly the loss of someone who cared enough about me to see my pain and not put qualifiers on it. It was all my fears about not having “real” friends laid bare. And in that moment I splintered.

I have been leading a duel life every since. One where I pretend I’m OK and make terrible decisions out of pain but act like it’s all normal. And one where there’s a ball of sadness locked away that bleeds out as anger and impatience. It leaks out as apathy. It oozes over things and makes even happy times duller. And all because I didn’t want to play the dead husband card. I didn’t want to make people feel inconvenienced or uncomfortable so I set about creating the biggest mask of all….one of the healed person. A mask I wore with limited success but a lot of fakery for nearly 10 years until my body and mind just couldn’t anymore.

I just can’t anymore. But that’s a good thing. Pretending to be ok is malarkey. That’s why I am here to embrace the full reality of me. And that includes being bipolar. (OH Yes you know what’s coming, here in 2026 reading this laughing a little at the next evolution… but wait there’s more) Maybe if I can get all these other layers out I can face down that struggle and fully understand it.

I got some big emotions. My feelings are BIG. (turns out sensory issues effect EVERYTHING — who knew? OH good psychologists knew? cool) Learning to feel them and not let them bang up everyone around me is a journey. So whatever you are going through don’t let anyone else tell you when you are “done” or “ready” or whatever unhelpful advice they might give – I guarantee you it’s more about them than you. Only you can know if you are still processing. Only you get to decide how much it hurts. No one is inside your heart but you. Feel your feels. Trust me on this – either you feel them on purpose or you and everyone will feel them anyway in a less helpful way.

Nothing as powerful as avoidance

This is the face of unresolved emotions. I know I want to talk about the time after Rob’s death. Need to even. It’s important in the evolution of how I arrived at this point of FINALLY dealing with me BEING bipolar. It was a time of yet another encounter with my bipolar diagnosis that I brushed off. It will be another decade of life that I pushed and pushed and felt my sanity and self-worth erode. Another terrible marriage/relationship choice. Another cycle of enthusiastically throwing myself into something and then running away. That chapter will give way to the early California years and the next diagnosis that came with the added – uhmm you are also like super ADHD and OCD. By the way you got some C-PTSD going on in there… Gurl you in danger.

I just create, destroy, and run. Wash – Rinse – Repeat. That my friends is a cycle of mental health, not a personality trait. (I mean who know what the actual personality is under all these masks)

And I can see with that perfect hindsight vision how close I’ve come to breaking the cycle and then the inciting incident or the complete overwhelm that happens and I slide backward.

Yet I think I can finally say that I know I’m not falling all the way back to the beginning. I can see the progress. The learning. And I suppose it’s why I’m finally here putting everything out there. Maybe I’ll tumble my way through all the malarkey flashback style for a few years and then put it together like a puzzle.

For now, I’m avoiding the grief post. I’m avoiding reliving what comes next and I can practically see my therapist’s raised eyebrow as she doesn’t have to say a word. She gets me, she knows I know. I know she knows I know…wait what was I talking about…. avoidance, oh yeah. I suppose the progress today is I am here writing even if it’s not 100% about what I want to talk about. Even if it IS dancing around the darkness I must traverse. The hurt, anger, and pain I feel somewhat obligated to carry. And good lord the truckload of regret for what I’ve done to my family and friends.

Instead since my grief post, I did this:

Instead of actually blogging/writing/processing I went on a clickup binge. LOL avoidance master!

At least it has the appearance of being productive. Even now I’m putting the pressure on myself to write every day – which of course I will struggle to maintain and then I’ll feel like a failure and then I’ll quit??? Well, that has been the past pattern. It’s hard to work through the hollow times. It’s hard to maintain hypo-mania levels of enthusiasm and it’s nearly impossible to slog through some of the deeper depressions and care about any of it. I’ve joked my whole life that “I am my own dichotomy” and “as with all things I swing both ways” — Hahahhahaaaaa… OH wait. #porquenolosdos ? Why not indeed.
I’ve always known the truth. Here’s hoping embracing it will finally bring lasting, sustainable change that leads me to the life I dream of and a way to heal the generational trauma that I so graciously passed on to my children.

My kids….

Bright Bright Sun Shiny Day

"The Midnight Show", 1973 Johnny Nash singing I can see clearly now

I was promised one world and learned something else – it has been messing with me my whole life.

I was around 5 when this aired. This matters because today we are going to talk about core beliefs.

Recently I’ve given a lot of thought to things I believe from my childhood. I have done 3 rounds of Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way over the last 2 years. I have written my #morningpages 448 days (and counting) in a row. That is a LOT of introspection, and a lot of deconstructing of my beliefs.

We all have them. Things we picked up either directly because someone said them to us a lot – or just once in a very vulnerable moment. Think things like “you are so lazy”, “you are such a slob”, “you are too sensitive” or if you are lucky “you are smart” “your smile lights up a room”. And other societal beliefs that we pick up more by proximity. Things we see and hear from other people and in the media we consume, “poor people did that to themselves”, “the world is a scary/kind place”, “hard work will get you where you want to go”, “equality is possible”, “racism is evil and systemic”. (Pssst this is how racism ended up systemic, core beliefs we are given often w/o intent as children)

It has been said that we form our core beliefs and personalities by age 7

Now we all grew up in different places and different times. We had parents with their own beliefs, we went to different schools (maybe someday I’ll write my feelings on what catholic school did to me) So we all were programmed, one way or another with a core set of beliefs. Many people don’t examine these beliefs over the course of their life. What they were taught is what they know and believe and they change very little. But some of us have a sense that something isn’t quite right. Maybe those beliefs didn’t match your own innate morality, or maybe as you grew up you saw conflicting information and you couldn’t ignore new ideas. What ever it is when we examine those beliefs we can begin to understand who we truly are, what we truly desire, (Luci would be so proud) and that is the beginning of healing for a lot of us. Because if you are still operating from the same place you did at the age of 7 w/out finding out if your coping mechanisms and beliefs are still relevant and true you may be in a bit of rut. It’s quite possible your life has been on repeat for many cycles.

Do you even truly know?

The only way to get out of your loop (Thank you Westworld) is to examine it and see what you want to change. Or maybe see what you want to enhance.

Either way, reflection, questioning, examining, and challenging your beliefs is how we become our most authentic, grounded, peaceful selves.

Wow, this took a different turn. A much more positive turn really because I came here to say this: This was what I heard in my youth…this was the future I was promised —finding out we were lied to really drug me down, man. I want the diverse, accepting, anti-racist, equitable future I was promised.

But I realized something uplifting in the process. My core beliefs are about equity, fairness, anti-racism, diversity, inclusion, feminism, humanism. My core belief system is a big ‘ol 60s hippy that believes in peace, love, and rainbows. And although it is at odds with *gestures vaguely* all of this, it’s a comfort to know that my core being still believes in the messages of hopes and the vision of a diverse and accepted humanity. (this is my plug for how #sciencefiction made me a better person)

I’ll return to my bipolar journey soon. I promise. But in true bipolar nature that part of the story sent me off on a tangent and it might take some time to circle back around.

Until then what are some of your core beliefs? helpful or harmful. told to you or absorbed by proximity. What are some you have changed? What are some you wish you could change? What are some you are glad are firmly entrenched in your being?

Just keep rollin’

This backstory feels heavy and ponderous. And yet it also feels necessary. To understand how someone reaches 53 w/o ever really dealing with a particular issue head-on matters. It matters to me as a person, but I think it matters more in our understanding of how people are suffering every day. It matters in the context of medical harm and how systemic issues of sexism and racism add further harm to individuals and how that equates to a societal ill. Our mental health issues are rampant and unchecked and we’re all just out here running into each other and judging each other and there is little to no understanding of the cost of this state of being. We have no grace for ourselves and each other in our trauma and in the comparison of our trauma.
Recognizing that other people are in worse situations, recognizing my privileges, I still need to process my hurt. My therapist says I’m not really angry I just have a deep well of hurt to face, rage is so much easier. But I digress, I’m here to speak the pain so that I can face it, and hopefully, as I heal and begin to work with instead of against my bipolar nature I’ll be more able to help out those who are suffering even more.

Ulitmately that is all I want, to be able to process so that I can more truly live and in doing so help others do the same. I beleive so passionatley that we are losing too much art, wonder, joy, and progress to people’s fears and pain and unrelenting traumas. How glorious would a world of people living authentically and with the capacity to face the darkness and triumph so much they can then share their gifts with the world w/out destroying themselves. Rather than comparing hurt we let each person live their truth w/o comparison.
Some say I’m a dreamer….

I’m avoiding the next chapter – The post-Rob Lafavor years. The way that grief tore me down to a shadow and had me regress to a proto version of myself like I hit a bipolar reset and was 20 all over again – in the worst broken ways possible.
It wasn’t all bad, they were also the yoga years, the Arizona family years, the South Korea Years, the find my way to California years…but before I can speak to that I’m going to have to wax poetical about grief – and honestly I’m too tired today.

Today there is no hypomania to push me through. Today I have that dull empty ache inside. Today I’m less enthusiastic, less hopeful. The good news is, now that I’m embracing and learning about my bipolar self I can see it for what it is and truly know that this too shall pass. Sometimes my neurotransmitters are on fire and some days they are sludge. I’m practicing moving through the sludge w/o getting bogged down while remembering to give myself grace, that understanding that I am not always in control of every little thing. And although that aggravates me, it also releases me… just maybe I’ll learn to actually relax.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves 😀

cogito, ergo sum

I am. I have. I will be.
I was re-diagnosed as bipolar almost 30 years ago(back then we called it manic-depressive which admittedly is more descriptive but way less cool-sounding, I mean who doesn’t want to sound like they are the earth, or a magnet? right?). My youngest was a year old. I had been first diagnosed at 17 and that was changed a few years later when I went through a battery of psychological tests for a legal battle. (we’ll maybe talk about my Twins’ father abuse and how it change the trajectory of everything, you’ll get used to the digressions that say “for another time” because no one wants that book right now) Then at 25 it came back into my world and this time the diagnosis was withdrawn when it was discovered I had hypothyroidism and the psychiatrist felt that a lot of my symptoms could be confused with someone going through the death spiral of their pituitary/thyroid axis combined with postpartum depression. Looking back I was a child, now with a third child and soon a third husband (do I really have to mention that is also a WHOLE other Jerry Springer?) I didn’t have google (oddly enough it was being invented that very year) or a lot of resources. In my less than optimal state, I said COOL and I started on Synthroid and Prozac and went about my life depressed, stressed, and fighting my body. I didn’t even have memes to get me through – I KNOW RIGHT, terrible. The old days were lame.

Little did I know the cyclical nature of my brain. Little did I know how often I would blow up my life because I had no idea who or, more precisely, what I was dealing with. (I feel compelled to chronicle that it was a chiropractor that first identified my suspected thyroid disorder and sent me to the doctor for my first test, which my doctor almost didn’t do because “I had just had a child and needed to just exercise and I would feel better” I later found out that postpartum is a common time to develop it and had I listened to my doctor I would have gone longer undiagnosed-and thus began my long journey of medical harm and gaslighting) The primary care gaslighting YES obviously that is a whole other side quest – let’s just focus on the mental health aspect. It will be enough.

I would be re-diagnosed in my early 30’s by the rudest, gruffest, most condescending psychiatrist of the bunch (the bar was pretty high too) His misogyny was epic. We tried a few medications but I was never really prepared for their effect and almost always got incredibly worse right away – and I was always “over-reacting” and “being hysterical” – so after a year I rejected the diagnosis, the meds, and well, therapy in general for quite some time. This is just one of the times psychiatric care did more harm than good because I was never coached or supported through the process. SUUUREEE now I know that meds can make you worse at first, SUUUURREE NOW I know that bipolar can make you think you don’t need meds and more I know that AFABs can be continually misdiagnosed, SUUUUUUUUUUUURRRREEEE NOW I know a lot of things…but imagine if that doctor had explained that to me? Instead, I was labeled “non-compliant” “difficult” and “combative” … because I cried…a lot (anyone who knows me might laugh at that) and begged for different medications.

I was a single mom with three children and was made to feel that all of it was my weakness and lack of effort. Another nail in the gaslighting coffin as my confidence, joy, and belief in my own feelings eroded. Still, I persevered.

A few years pass without meds or therapy and I start my Master’s Studies, I get promoted and move up in my work, … I have hopes and dreams and I meet the love of my life. Sure I struggle but I believed that I had “overcome” my issues. I was responsible, I wasn’t doing all the manic things I had done in my 20s – so surely that was all youthful exuberance and not a mental health disorder. I drank too much. My newfound love is sick and struggling and I begin having my first panic attacks. But that’s normal right? things are hard so of course, I’m panicked. OH, there is too much, I will sum up… My husband’s health issues take over our lives and he eventually dies from an allergic reaction to MRI dye – It was on my 37th birthday. OOF still 16 years later it hits like a train wreck. My anger and sadness run so deep. I blamed myself. I blamed the medical system. I didn’t blame god because I don’t believe in them, but man that sure would have been a nice outlet. Again I digress – it’s sort of my MO 😛

Holy crap – this is a long story. Let’s leave it there on this uplifting moment of my dead 36-year-old husband because I need some space to let this wash over me. This is 10 years of my life. And looking back what a freaking intense 10 years. 10 years of not getting the help I truly needed. 10 years of self-medicating harm as I tried to just hang on to life by the tips of my fingers. During that time was also that first divorce with a costly custody battle. I bounced back with a new job, life, and love. And then love was torn from me. Every time I thought I had my proverbial shit together there was a blowup. sometimes caused by me, and sometimes caused by life that was then exacerbated by my mental health.




That’s 3 — THREE bipolar diagnoses received and rejected.
4 – FOUR marriages
3 – THREE children
10 – SIX different medications (approx. my memory is often shoddy at best)
and a whole host of jobs and career changes and moves. My word did I move a lot. LOL

Until next time. I once again am facing the bipolar diagnosis. And I’m trying very hard to embrace and accept that. I might even finally be able to find some peace. Peace, Love, Punk, and Rainbows.